The Facts of Life
by In the House
Summary: Something is bothering House, and Cuddy tries to fish it out of him. Follows Father's Day in the Pranks universe. A House/Cuddy one-shot with Rachel, Abby, and brief appearances by Thomas, Jensen, Belle and others.


Title: The Facts of Life

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own House, Cuddy, Rachel, etc. I do own Abby, Belle, and anybody else mentioned whom you didn't see on your TV screen.

A/N: This one shot is set in the Pranks series and follows Father's Day. Specifically, it's about 5 weeks after Father's Day, enough time to be well along the process of healing from those injuries, but still leaving about three weeks before the next story starts for preliminary action that occurs in the background prior to that story opening. The next story is definitely set in the first half of May, so this one would be roughly mid April.

The next story, another long roller coaster, is coming along quite well. For a preview of coming attractions, in that story, House tries to select a new team member to replace Thirteen but unexpectedly winds up working on a difficult and personal case during his testing of the candidates, and Thomas moves to Princeton.

And now, our feature presentation. Especially for those reviewers who have said the House household deserves a little break after all the recent action of the Hopes and Fears of All the Years and Father's Day, I present a story in which absolutely nothing happens. :)

(H/C)

Something had been bothering House all week.

Cuddy was sure it had started Monday at work. They drove in together, and he was in fine form that morning, snarking at traffic, making all personalized license plates he saw into acronyms and filling in his own blanks. He had her laughing openly by the time they reached PPTH, not even resisting being distracted any more, though when he had pulled out of their driveway, she had been one knot of tension anticipating a difficult meeting that morning that loomed over her entire day's agenda like Mount Everest. He parked in the handicapped slot, and they walked in together. "I'll meet you later for the victory lunch," he said in parting.

The victory lunch wound up being postponed, though the victory itself did not. Her preparation hadn't suffered after all for lack of those fifteen minutes of additional worry on the commute, and the meeting went far better than she had feared. But House had found an intriguing case in the meantime. When he called down for a post meeting update, she could tell he was in full differential and wouldn't be doing more than taking time out for a sandwich at his desk. She let him off the hook (though making sure he got the sandwich) and ate with Wilson and Sandra in the cafeteria instead.

The case had been solved late that afternoon, but driving home, he was still lost in some inner differential. Her careful test questions couldn't find the reason. He was sure of the diagnosis. The patient, an 11-year-old girl, would be fine with a few days of treatment. No, nothing else had happened in his day. No, nothing was wrong. She finally gave him space to gnaw whatever mental bone he was worrying at on his own. Maybe he was simply tired from a day which he had spent at full mental throttle from getting the case at 9:00 clear to solving it at 4:30.

But he hadn't snapped out of it. The whole week since, he seemed distracted, off in some undefined way. The girls also noticed on Monday night, and he switched into a bright, brisk, "not a problem in the world" front and then gave them a free virtuoso piano concert, which was perhaps the only successful way to divert Abby from a potential puzzle.

Their younger daughter had been a lot less quiet the last few weeks since her epiphany with Thomas. The world was surveyed through more experienced and newly proud eyes. Some of her questions were uncomfortably blunt, such as the time a week ago in the grocery story that they wound up behind a man who was shopping with his wife and had run into a friend of hers unexpectedly. In the middle of the random social chitchat between the two carts ahead, Abby turned to her parents and asked quite audibly why, since that man was married to both of those women, they had different carts instead of all sharing one. House, who had been reading the subtext body language in that threesome's encounter quite clearly himself, burst out laughing as Cuddy stammered an apology and a correction. Abby's age excused her in the wife's eyes, but House's amusement had no such mitigation. The woman glared at him, totally missing the worried exchanged glance behind her between her husband and friend. She finally turned away with a pointed humph that expressed clearly as words that after all, politeness could not be expected in children who had _that_ example in a father.

Once they got home, Cuddy tried to explain to Abby the fine art of saving up any public questions about people to ask her parents privately later. Much to her husband's appreciation, Abby took that advice to heart. Cuddy now dreaded coming home from any outing as a family, knowing that Abby probably had observations waiting, some innocent and easily explained, a few not. She did try referring her to House for answers once. Only once. After that, Cuddy gritted her teeth and took the task without complaint herself.

Abby had settled for music and her father's statement that he was just tired Monday night, but Tuesday, House hadn't been any better. Kutner popped into Cuddy's office that day to say that House seemed bothered by something. Kutner was trying to eliminate physical causes House might be hiding, and Cuddy was at least able to reassure him there. Her husband's broken ribs from the racetrack explosion were healing, and his leg, while never good, was back to baseline. She took the opportunity for a quick interrogation herself as to Monday's case. House had been consumed fully on the differential, morning to late afternoon. No time for anything else. Nothing unusual had happened during the day as far as the team knew. The diagnosis was now confirmed by lab tests, and the girl was improving. House had even been to check on her that morning quickly to confirm, "but he didn't want us to know and was acting like he didn't care," Kutner added. He still looked worried - and curious - as he left.

Cuddy took House out to lunch Tuesday, claiming the postponed victory meal he owed her. He was amusingly good company, but part of him still was in another mental room. She decided to give him time. If he hadn't snapped out of it by the weekend, after he'd had the chance to talk to Jensen Friday, she would push a little more, but sometimes, he just needed his space. Tuesday night, he launched into piano music the moment they got home, not giving the girls time to wonder if anything was wrong with him.

Later on, Thomas had called after dinner and talked to everyone, and that got the girls focused on timetables and diverted to the future changes in the family. Thomas had stayed in Princeton for two and a half weeks after the explosion and since then had been back and forth a time or two, getting arrangements underway on both ends. He had found a small house about two miles from theirs fairly quickly. The inspection of all the local stables took far more focus, and House had commented that the old man might as well live in a stall himself as picky as he was being about choosing one.

Slowly, tentatively at times, the two men continued to learn to be around each other, and Cuddy was enjoying every minute of watching them. Thomas' true identity was not yet general public knowledge, though he had told his best friend privately (with his son's permission), but he was content to accept the speed limit, knowing that House already had as many adjustments as he could handle at the moment. Cuddy was looking forward to the team meeting him, but they weren't in the know yet. The closing on Thomas' new house would be in three weeks, and he was back in St. Louis at the moment, starting to sort out and compress over 30 years worth of belongings that would have to move from one house into another a third of its size.

Wednesday evening, there was a banquet at PPTH, a fundraiser with ample donors and potential donors. All department heads attended. House was perfectly polite and civil all evening, not even an eye roll behind someone's back. Wilson and Sandra both asked Cuddy at different points in the evening what was up with him. She was getting more worried but still hoped he was only waiting to talk to Jensen. Once the banquet was over, Cuddy pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed for home, waiting for the usual Housian post event unedited version, which she would never admit she actually looked forward to. He didn't say a word. She looked over at the first stoplight, and he was staring out the window with the same pleasant expression he'd had pasted on all evening, as if he had forgotten to inform his face the event was over, but his eyes were distant.

Cuddy's resolve to give him space and a session with Jensen before pushing shattered. "All, right, Greg, _what_ is wrong?"

He looked over at her. "Nothing."

"Bullshit. Something's been bothering you since Monday."

"I was working all day Monday, remember? Case solved, patient improving. I didn't have time for anything else that day."

"Whatever it is, it happened Monday. If nothing else went on besides the case, it must have been that case."

He gave a shrug. "It was an interesting case medically, and we got the answer. Over, finished, DX closed. What makes you think something's wrong?"

"I know you by now, Greg. You've been distracted all week, and tonight, whoever I was with all evening at this banquet, it definitely wasn't you."

"You're just looking for things to worry about." He turned away, staring back out onto the darkened streets.

"Not this time, but I do recognize them when they're handed to me on a platter. The girls have noticed, too. And Belle."

"So now you're claiming a _cat_ as a valid second opinion to back up yours?"

"She knows you. So do Wilson and Sandra and Kutner, and every one of them has wondered what's bothering you this week." She suddenly returned to Kutner's first field of worry. _Had _she been wrong to eliminate that so quickly, to toss off any slight stiffness as nothing more than his usual leg plus almost-healed ribs? "You _are_ feeling okay physically, aren't you?"

He heard the sharp rise in concern there and turned back toward her. "I'm fine, Lisa. All the cuts are healed up, and the ribs are down to just a twinge or two if I stretch along that side or directly whack them."

"You've directly whacked them? When did that happen?"

"Settle down. No, I haven't. But I'm sure they'd still let me know if I did. I'll get an x-ray tomorrow if it will make you feel better, but I'll bet you a dinner out that they're healing up well."

"And your leg isn't any worse?"

They were at another stoplight, and she looked over and saw the tension along his face as he answered. His leg was much more of a sore point in general with him than his recently broken ribs. "No, it's fine. At least, it's as fine as it gets. There is _nothing_ wrong physically, Lisa, and that's the truth."

She accepted it. "Which leads us straight back to what else you're chewing on this week."

He sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you there isn't anything at all bothering me?"

"Just once, if you say it while you're looking me straight in the eyes in good light once we get home and we can face each other directly. No dodging, no distractions." He squirmed in his seat, and there was a stiff silence for a moment.

The car behind them honked, and both of them looked at the light in surprise. "Speaking of distractions, it's green," House pointed out.

"Which you hadn't noticed any more than I did." She reached over, finding his hand. "Greg, I know something's wrong. Please, talk to me."

He gave an exasperated grumble that might have been "women," but he didn't pull his hand away. She could hear the differential in progress in the passenger's seat - tell her or not? - and she left him alone to work through it, but she kept his hand until she had to let go for the turn into their driveway, edging past the sitter's car and on into the garage.

The sitter was reading a book in the living room when they entered the house. "Are they asleep?" Cuddy asked. House disappeared down the hall without a word, leaving her to pay and get the evening's report.

"Yes. No problems. Rachel's horse seems to be running down on batteries; it wouldn't whinny every time, and she got annoyed at that. I told her I'd tell you. They spent most of the evening playing zoo with their stuffed animals, and then we read a book." The evening sitter, who had known the girls for a few years now, smiled. "They're really growing."

"Yes, they are." Even with her worry over House, Cuddy paused to enjoy the warmth of the thought. Her girls, growing and thriving in a happy home. She had the family she had always wanted.

After the sitter was paid and let out, Cuddy bolted the front door, then headed back down the hall in search of her husband. He was in the darkened nursery, watching his daughters sleep. Cuddy came up beside him and spoke softly. "She said they were good. She was just commenting how fast they're growing. I know what she means; it seems just yesterday that they were babies."

He tightened up sharply, and she looked at him in surprise. Even in the nightlight, she could see the tension in his face, and it took him a moment to stuff it back underneath the mask. The same distracted, private mask he'd worn all week. "What is it, Greg?"

"Noth. . ."

She shut off the lie by pulling him into a tight embrace (though part of her remained mindful not to squeeze right over his healing ribs). He leaned into her, seeking solace that he couldn't admit outright that he needed, and she could feel the tautness in him. For some reason, her casual comment had struck an unintended bull's eye. "Greg, please, talk to me. You can, you know. I'm here."

He took the few limping steps to the beds, leaning over to kiss each daughter, then retreated to their bedroom. Cuddy took a moment for a silent good night with the girls herself, then followed him and shut the door. She hadn't made it two steps inside the room when an imperative meow echoed through wood, and she reopened the door quickly before the cat started to scratch. Belle was sitting with one paw lifted in mid air, waiting to see if the response was fast enough or if she would need to adopt harsher measures. "Come on in," Cuddy told her. The cat, after all, was her ally in this one. Belle, too, knew that something was deeply bothering him. .

House had limped to the bed and was staring at it as if he had never seen it before. Belle jumped up and trotted across the mattress to him, tilting her head and positioning herself perfectly. Almost reflexively, he reached out and started scratching her ears, and her rich, throaty purr filled the room. Cuddy kicked off her heels with a grateful wiggle of her toes at their freedom, bent to collect the shoes, and walked over to him. "Would you unzip me? Let's get comfortable, and then we can talk."

He unzipped her dress, and she heard his low chuckle. As she turned back around to face him, she saw that he was looking down at the heels grasped in her left hand. "You can't stand to leave them on the floor even for a minute, can you?"

"Things look better put away, and besides, they're a hazard. Any of us could trip on them." She was careful not to limit it to him alone. "You know how Rachel gallops around." She started for the closet, and his words stopped her in her tracks.

"I'll talk if you leave those shoes smack in the middle of the floor instead of putting them away. Rachel's not going to gallop around in here tonight."

Her shoulders squared, and she turned to face him. His incomparable blue eyes were dancing. Slowly, deliberately, she bent over and placed the heels back on the floor. She looked like she had just bitten into a lemon, but she did it.

"Wow," he said with grudging respect. "Not even going to argue? You _are_ worried."

"Yes," she agreed. "I am."

He sighed, his eyes suddenly serious again, and started taking off his dinner jacket. Cuddy slipped out of her dress and hung it up, leaving the shoes where they stood in the floor, though she pointedly avoided looking at them. There was a few minutes' silence as they both got ready for bed, and she didn't attempt to fill it, but once they were side by side in bed, she turned to him. "What is it, Greg?"

He watched the white cat carefully arranging herself as a purring sphinx across his bad thigh. "It's stupid," he said softly.

Well, that was a step up from saying it didn't exist, she thought. "What's stupid?"

"Just . . . I'd never thought about it. Not _really_ thought about it. But I should have known it anyway. It shouldn't . . ." He trailed off. Belle was watching him steadily.

Cuddy slid a little closer. "What hadn't you thought about?"

"That patient on Monday."

"You said the case was solved and she'd be fine."

"She will. But . . ." His eyes fled to the far side of the room again. He almost looked embarrassed, she thought. She waited him out, knowing better than to push just now. Finally, he went on. "She's 11. While we were examining her at one point Monday, everybody realized that she . . . she had started her period."

"So?" Surely the medical personnel would have dealt with that fact professionally, noted it, and gone on.

"Her _first _period. At first, she didn't understand and thought it was part of her illness, and she was upset when she saw the bloodstains on her gown, but once we realized what was going on, her mother just talked to her quietly and reminded her of the conversations they'd had and that this was normal. Just a sign of the body growing up. She calmed back down eventually, and we went on with the differential." He shook his head. "I was so wrapped up on that case all day. That was irrelevant, so I didn't even think twice about it. But after the case was solved and they left to start treatment, I was standing there at the whiteboard, and all at once I realized . . ."

Suddenly, Cuddy _got_ it. "You realized our two girls are going to grow up."

"Well, I _knew_ that." His tone was sharp, but she didn't react, knowing that he was annoyed with himself, not her. "It's a fact of life. _Everybody's_ kids grow up."

"But you'd never thought specifically about _our_ kids growing up, had you?"

"I _should_ have. We've had fifteen thousand conversations about their talents or what they might be. Talked about Rachel as a vet or something and Abby playing the piano professionally if she wants to. She's going to be good enough. How could I have that many conversations with you or Jensen or even Mom about them and never think about . . ."

She carefully hid her smile, burying it deep. Actually, she thought this glimpse of her husband functioning purely as a daddy, not as a genius for once, was adorable, but saying that would smash this fragile conversation and send him into full retreat. "That's different than thinking about them with boys. Meeting them, going on dates. Getting into relationships."

He shuddered. "I _was_ a teenaged boy, Lisa. I know how they think. They're going to be looking at them, thinking about them, trying to see past the clothes. With _my_ daughters." His words and his breathing were both accelerating now. "Can you imagine Rachel as a teenager with that dark hair and her spice? And Abby. Those eyes, and she _is_ growing now. She'll probably wind up tall and lean, like I am, only with breasts and a figure to really set it off. They're going to be beautiful. Both of them. And boys are going to see them and think that they are . . ." He paused out of necessity for a few breaths. Cuddy took his left hand, holding it tightly. "They're going to be after my daughters. I swear, if any of them try anything . . ."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I know. I have thought about it."

He looked over at her, surprised at the acceptance in her tone. "Oh, so you have no problems with the world oogling our daughters - or worse?"

"Of course it bothers me. I was a teenager, too, and at college, and the idea of Rachel and Abby in that world is . . . frightening sometimes. We will have to teach them about respect and judgment and that they _deserve_ respect. Anybody ever pressuring them uncomfortably or trying to take advantage of them, I'll be right in the line with you. But on the other hand, don't you want them to share what we have? True love, a happy relationship. Hopefully it's out there waiting for them. _That's _what I've thought about, too. Wondered who they might wind up with eventually, what boyfriends they might have along the way there. Hoped that they would know good ones. I want them to experience everything we've discovered."

His lips quirked. She was still holding his hand, and his breathing had steadied a little. Belle had moved farther up, lying across his lap as he was sitting up in bed. "I could wish that they _wouldn't_ experience some of what we've had. Select parts of it, at least."

She smiled. "Like wasting 20 years being stupid first?"

"That's on the list, definitely."

"I hope they can skip that. But we can't lock them in a closet until they're 25. They have to make their mistakes, too."

He looked a little wistful at the thought of shutting them in a closet until 25. "What about just until they're 21?" She laughed, and they slid a little closer together. His expression quickly grew serious again. "I don't ever want anybody to hurt them."

"Neither do I. But they're going to, anyway, like we have at times. That's part of being human. The best we can hope for is that nobody hurts them intentionally." She saw his features tighten and knew he was thinking of John. "And we're already helping to give them that, Greg. They'll have a lot more self-respect and sense of worth than either one of us had when we were teenagers. I sure hope that makes it a little easier for them as they get into relationships. They'll have higher standards of what to expect than we did."

He sighed again. "I know they have to grow up, but that closet idea is tempting."

"_All_ fathers - all _good_ fathers," she amended quickly, "feel like that. Especially about their little girls. I'll bet Jensen feels like that, too." That suggestion surprised him. "Think about it, Greg. Cathy is 10, getting close to the doorstep. I'm _positive_ he's fretted over this same thing a lot. Everybody she ever dates, how they will treat her, wanting to strangle them barehanded if they do it wrong." He grinned at the image of the psychiatrist going after some hapless teenaged loser, but he could picture it, too, now that he thought about it. "Talk to him, Greg. Not as a therapist but just as a father. You two can commiserate with each other. This doesn't _need_ fixing in sessions; it's just a normal part of how fathers feel."

"And how do _you_ know that, since we both had less-than-sterling examples in that department?"

"I read it in a book," she admitted. "And I questioned it, at least with me. But really, I think now that my dad _did_ feel like that and want to protect us from the world. He just didn't know how to show it. He thought it was weakness to show emotion, _any _emotion, so we weren't sure that he loved us and thought we had to earn it by being successful. Being successful to him _was_ a way to protect us; he thought teaching us that would help us cope with life, so he emphasized the one thing he knew how to communicate and hoped that would be enough. Patterson and I have talked a lot about all this. Their mistakes and how that influenced me and how not to repeat them. That's another gift we're already giving our daughters, Greg. We can teach them _now_ that it's okay to make mistakes, and that feelings aren't bad, and that they can always talk to us, because we'll always love them no matter what. If they learn that from us now, they'll remember it once puberty hits, at least most of the time. That's what Patterson says, anyway. But think, Greg, if they _do_ find the right one and get married, you'll also get to walk them down the aisle. And I'm sure they will thank you for being such a great father to them." He was looking thoughtful now, though still worried. "They are going to be beautiful, aren't they?" she said, inviting him along with her into a future that wasn't purely threatening.

He nodded. "Rachel will be dark fire. Heart and soul into everything. She cares so much. And Abby is going to be gorgeous, too, in a different way. Not that she doesn't care about things, too, but she's also more of a thinker and quieter."

"She might not be much quieter. I wanted a portable hole to crawl into in the grocery store the other night."

"Can't blame the kid for commenting on what she saw right in front of her, even if she didn't understand it. The cross-currents between those two were so obvious I couldn't believe that stupid wife didn't see it herself." There was pride in his voice at his daughter's perception.

"She needs to work on refining her filters a little bit."

That quirky smile that she loved flashed across his face. "She's not even 3 yet, Lisa. You can deal with refining the filters. I did my part already with the gift for diagnosing puzzles. Maybe she'll be a doctor some day instead of a concert pianist, and we could be in practice together. Can you imagine PPTH with two of us? We could nail the idiot families and patients in stereo whenever they try to feed us BS." It was her turn to sigh.

The phone rang at that moment. It was Cuddy's cell, and she looked immediately guilty. "Damn it. Mother called earlier tonight. I told her I'd call back when we weren't at the banquet, and then I was so worried I forgot all about it." She pulled the phone over and answered dutifully. "Hello, Mother. I'm so sorry I hadn't called back yet. Something came up. No, nothing's wrong, just something that needed dealing with." She settled into conversation, and House slipped out of bed, to Belle's disgust, grabbed his cane from its convenient resting spot against the nightstand, and limped barefoot and in his sleep pants and T-shirt to the door, opening it and going into the hall.

He stood in the nursery again watching his girls. Yes, he wanted them to know what he and Cuddy had, but he still didn't feel ready to think about them ever getting into relationships. Or about boys looking at them and thinking of that. He had palmed his cell phone from the nightstand as he grabbed his cane, trying to keep from being obvious about it, and now he pulled it out for a quick text to Jensen. _Ever think about boys getting interested in Cathy in a few years and want to threaten them all to treat her right or else?_

He looked at his daughters sleeping peacefully and tried to picture them as young women. They _were_ going to be beautiful, both of them, outside and in personality, too. His cell phone beeped, and he viewed the text. _Of course. I was just worrying about that this morning while I was jogging. _House read the words over a few times. How odd to not be the loner, the outcast anymore, not in his relationships, not even in his worries. He wasn't alone.

Neither were his girls. He gave each of them another kiss, moving the stuffed Ember over a little closer to Rachel, pulling up Abby's blanket more snugly. "They're still going to have me to answer to," he vowed to them.

Cuddy joined him a few minutes later. He reached out for the phone automatically as he heard her footsteps, and she caught his hand with her empty one instead. "Come to bed, Greg."

"Susan didn't want to talk to me?" He almost always wound up holding the phone at some point during Cuddy's conversations with her parents.

"Of course she did. I told her you weren't feeling well tonight."

He gave her a nod of gratitude. He really _didn't_ feel up to his mother-in-law tonight. "_Nice_. Not quite technically a lie but pushing it. I'm corrupting you." Her face flickered, and he read the thought effortlessly. "But I'll bet you picked up those shoes already from the floor and put them away before you came in here."

"You said you'd talk if I left them there. You didn't specify how long they had to stay."

He rewound mentally and realized she was right. He really _must_ be off his game tonight. Normally, he never would have left a loop hole like that wide open in a deal. Couldn't blame her for driving through when it was there; he still admired her putting the shoes back down without a word in the first place. She tugged on his hand again, pulling him back toward their room, and he willingly followed her, ready now for some real distraction.

After they had made love, when they were both sated and snuggled up against each other, he lay there thinking. Yes, he definitely wanted Abby and Rachel to know the joy of a good relationship on every level, but he was glad he still had several years first. He felt sorry for Jensen, well up the road ahead of him in terms of daughter age.

Another thought suddenly occurred to him, dropping like a rock into his already rippling thoughts of the future and sending out fresh shock waves. Cuddy felt him tense up. "What is it, Greg?"

"Nothing."

"_Greg_."

"I was just thinking, when it _is_ time to have that talk with them lots of years from now, about, well, you know, periods and things. . ." Ridiculous to hesitate at that thought, since he was a doctor after all, but he was sure she would handle that conversation so much better.

She took pity on him. "I'll explain things to them, Greg. If they ask you questions later, you ought to answer them, but I'll cover the initial talk."

He relaxed. "Good. And later I'll screen the boyfriends, so that's an even trade."

"We'll screen the boyfriends together, team effort. But I'll bet they'll be a lot more afraid of you."

Somehow, that thought was absurdly comforting. Both halves of it were. He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, settling even closer against her. "Good night, Lisa."

"Good night, Greg." She switched off the light. Together, they slid into sleep and pleasant dreams of their family and the future.


End file.
